The Living Dragonsbane
by Nintaku
Summary: The prequel to Sword and Spell, Atanvardo takes a job that plants him in the middle of a plot to control Faerun! Will his compulsions destroy him? Rated PG13 just in case.
1. Odd Job

**Chapter 1**

**Odd Job**

The man stood perfectly still as he spoke, the thin shadow of his grey cloak's hood not quite concealing his effeminately beautiful face in the well-lit storefront. The skin was as fair as skin got, in these parts. Then again, Baldur's Gate was the sort of place you'd find people of any skin color imaginable. Ports can be like that. He was taller than the wizard, but that wasn't saying much.  
"My name is Atanvardo."

"Well, Atanvardo, what kind of services can you provide for me?"

"Magic." His voice was low and quiet, with an air of secrecy about it. The old man could feel it.

"A wizard, are you? Not many wizards travel alone, as you do."

"I am no wizard, and I am not alone."

"Er... right. Well, there is a tower to the northeast of here, once owned by my great uncle. He's been dead quite some time, and I've not the stamina to make it all that distance to claim what's rightfully mine. He was a wizard, you see, and a good one, at that. An enchanter. I would like you to find and retrieve his spellbook, for me." The old man handed the adventurer a blue pearl, an inch in diameter. Atanvardo took it, revealing a leather gauntlet and pauldron. Steel studs gleamed in the light of the afternoon sun coming in through the windows. "That's a nuyar pearl, worth a hundred gold. I've more to offer upon your successful return." He looked at his younger a little suspiciously. "And anycompanions you may have will recieve an extra share. I'd like to see them, myself, of course."

"Only one share will be necessary." He pocketed the pearl.  
"Very well. In addition, you may keep whatever you find. My great uncle was fond of enchanting weapons. I'm sure you'll find some interesting specimens inside. All I want is the spellbook." He began showing measurements with his bony hands. "It's about a foot square and three inches thick. The book's binding is steel, while the inlay itself is gold. If you're not a wizard, then the book's contents would be meaningless to you. I'm sure a lad as sharp as you would be more interested in magic swords and the like, anyway."

"This sounds far easier a task than one for an adventurer. What's the catch?" There was a monotony to his voice. Detachment, perhaps?

"Catch? There is no catch. Although, you may find a slight...er....hiccup." Handragath smiled sheepishly at the quiet man before him. "You see, my great uncle was fond of animating weapons to use as guards. There may be floating swords or axes or something of that sort awaiting you. Part of why I dare not go, myself. I'm old, you see, and not quite confident that they wouldn't suspect me a common burglar. But you'll be fine. Just be careful. I'm sure you're used to that, aren't you?"

Atanvardo turned and walked out without a word. Any simple apprentice mage could see the magic aura surrounding him. This was no ordinary adventurer.

Alone, there was no need to hide his heritage. He removed the cloak to reverse it, and his elven features were revealed for the surrounding forest to see. Long green hair flowed freely down to his waist. Pale shimmery skin and long pointed ears, the sign of a moon elf. He was naturally very beautiful, the trademark of his race. Reversed, the cloak was very different. The colors would flow, subtly altering to match the greens and browns of the elf's surroundings. This was magic at work. It was two hours until he reached the site Handragath had directed him to. The directions were a bit mistaken. Bad directions were of no concern now that he'd arrived.

The elf kneeled beside some of the rubble surrounding his destination, examining it. Much of the rock wall seemed to have been melted, long ago. The tower that was spoken of turned out to be little more than a few short walls, the broken remains of a once mighty wizard's abode. Something took it down long ago, reducing it to almost nothing. Few creatures in all the worlds could do such a thing. What sort of being would have such a quarrel with a wizard, and have the power to defeat him? Atanvardo walked around the ruins, looking carefully. Then he found it. Stairs, leading downward. It was the stairs to the basement, untouched by whatever had destroyed the rest of the stone home. He put the hood of his cloak up again, and started down the stairs.

His steps were quiet as a cat, even in his leather armor. All he didn't have was a helm. No light came from the open doorway at the bottom of the steps. He was only halfway to the lower level before he realised what it was he saw. There was a bit of light peeking out from behind a black curtain. Someone had deliberately been trying to hide the light. His two favorite daggers slipped from their sheaths, and it was as if the world itself had gone mute. The magic of the cloak made him almost seem as one with the shadows and stonework of the wall as he slipped into the room and past the curtain.

The curtain did its job well. The chamber beyond it was lit by two heatless torches. Continual Flame, it would seem. Three men in mail stood by the door at the far end of the room, past two rows of beds. Eight beds there, plus another two where the wall widens out on the right. The men had shortbows in hand as they conversed quietly. All Atanvardo could make out was something about a prisoner. He tried to slowly walk toward them, but the cloak didn't make him completely invisible. His instincts told him to duck, just as the flat of a longsword swung over his head from behind. The three by the door got a look of confusion, then quickly readied their bows. The elf let his left arm out from under the cloak, the blade of his dagger aimed down. One back swing and the fighter behind him doubled over, keeping himself from crying out. Three arrows flew in Atanvardo's general direction. One of them glanced off of his armor, and ripped a hole in his cloak. The hole sealed a few seconds later, during which time he ran back up the steps. He'd been set up. He must have been.

Back on the surface, five men in hooded half-cloaks stood waiting for him. The obvious leader of the group had a bracer with three long claws extending from it, and a viper coiled around his arm. The others all had crossbows aimed at the entrance. That made eight opponents, not counting the wounded guard. He held his nerve and stood ready to face whoever came at him. He was on the defensive. Not good. Not good at all. The leader spoke. His voice was almost a hiss.

"You've caused us quite a bit of trouble. Atanvardo. What a very elven name. We thought you'd be a human, honestly. Most of the more famous dragon slayers are. It's good to finally have you."

"The Cult of the Dragon." He glanced down at the sheathed broadsword at his side. "Where are your gods? Asleep, while you do their dirty work?"

"Hardly. The great ones of this chapter of our glorious order are quite busy, indeed. It's a rather complicated matter. It would be much simpler for us to show you."

"Show me? Very hospitable, but I think I'll decline." He moved a foot down one step. The guards kept the crossbows trained on him. The snake-like man laughed dryly.

"You don't honestly expect to have a choice in this matter, do you?" There was the sound of a blackjack striking, and the next thing Atanvardo saw was blackness.


	2. Along Came A Spider

**Chapter 2**

**Along Came a Spider**

Rapid breathing went right along with the quick footsteps of the running woman. Selune, the world's silver moon, shone down through the forest's trees on a small group of dark figures, not a hundred feet behind her. Quilue was quick of foot, but unused to so much light. It stung her white eyes and gave away her movements. She could feel them closing in, hear the chink of chain mail and the snapping of twigs under heavy boots. Any second, and she'd feel a crossbow bolt in her back. She'd done her best to lose these mercenaries. It seemed even running into the middle of an old forest wouldn't save her. Her voice was quiet from lack of breath as she uttered a quick prayer to her goddess, the Dancing Maiden.

"Lady Eilistraae, please let me be spared. Don't let me die like this." Tears slid down her black cheeks as a thrown dagger embedded itself in a tree trunk beside her. Her legs felt like they were about to give out. Her lungs felt like bursting. Everything was about to fall apart.

She had nearly given up hope when she came upon a clearing, with only rocks and stones for cover. There was but a fraction of a second to choose whether to run into the wide open, where anyone with a longbow could pick her off, or turn back into the forest, where the men with bows and swords were coming from. She saw a spot of darkness in the middle, an obvious way down. It was her only chance. With one last burst of energy, she ran for it. Halfway there, wooden bolts and arrows started to fly. A set of two bolts and two arrows whizzed past, breaking on the rocks of her destination. With but a few steps remaining between her and the safety of underground, an arrow pierced her right arm. The bloody arrowhead poked out from the wound, and the girl screamed. She kept her feet, and ran crying down the stairs, right into a hanging dark cloth.

Everything hurt, and now she was tangled in a black curtain someone had put at the bottom of the stairs. The worst part was the voices. She'd stumbled off to the side of the stairs, and now some men were obviously walking over to investigate. Three male voices, trying to decide who would go to find out who and what she was. There was a silly little argument, before the footsteps of the mercenaries started down. The next noises were cries of battle and gurgles of death. It seems the mercs had won.

Quilue held perfectly still, in the hopes that she wouldn't be noticed. They were too close. Two of the four had survived, and now they were discussing their plans.

"Where'd she go?" That was the farther voice. A human.

"I dunno. These aren't her. Maybe she ran in further. You go check that way. I'll check behind the stairs." That voice was closer. It was the dwarf. He seemed to have been the leader of the group, to begin with.

"Right." The human walked much softer than his companion, but still loud enough to be heard. He walked away, and then down some stairs. The dwarf walked around Quilue. She held her breath. That, she could control. The whimpering was another problem. One she couldn't. The dwarf had to have noticed, as he returned to where she lay hiding.

"Well, what have we--" He was cut off by his partner's cry of help. It was very short, and followed by choking. Then nothing. The last merc ran as best he could to follow the human, and Quilue waited until he started down the stairs to untangle herself. The arrow had broken during her fall, but it was still sticking out of her. She quickly yanked the shaft of wood out and dropped it to the floor, stifling her cry of pain to silent sobs. She used one of the fallen soldier's shortswords to cut a strip of cloth from the curtain, and tied it around her arm as a tourniquet. Arming herself with the shortsword, the drow girl cautiously started down the stairs, to see where she could get to, from here.

The sound of rattling chains came from the room at the bottom. She hid herself against a wall, not daring to reveal her presence. The dwarf was cursing and choking, apparently by whoever had the chain. There was a snap, and then silence. Shortly afterward, the chains started sounding again. Slower, this time. Quilue took a careful peek around the corner, to see an elf crouching beside the two bodies. Age is hard to tell, with them, since they live so long. By appearance, his human age equivelant would be late teens, early twenties. That put his age at around a century, perhaps a little less. She'd never been good at understanding the surface faeries. They were trouble, and hated drow. That's all she needed to know. For some reason, he was naked and shackled to the wall. He'd somehow managed to kill the two mercenaries who'd come down, and was checking the contents of their fresh corpses. He glanced up at her for a moment, before returning to examining the dwarf's weaponry. A battleaxe, a sap, and a heavy crossbow. He took the sap, and looked over at her again. His voice was cracked a bit.

"I see you. You might as well come out." His attention turned to the other body. The human. Quilue stepped from her hiding place, into the room. Naturally, she kept her distance. "If you release me, I promise not to hurt you." She knew better than to trust a surface-dweller. She edged around him, and headed for the room beyond.

There wasn't a doorway leading ahead, but that area was wider. There was an old cut up workbench all along the back wall. It held several pieces of finely crafted leather armor, inlaid with metal studs. Embedded in the chestpiece was a very valuable looking medallion. Also on the table was a sheathed sword, with a gold-inlaid hilt. The blade was wide enough to be a broadsword, slightly longer than a longsword, and the hilt was long enough for one or two-handed use. On the other side of the armor was a folded up heavy cloak, the same brown as the table. Beside that was a belt with several pouches. Some of them are drawstring pouches, while others have flaps. On the left wall was a wide indentation, with a mural of a city in a forest. In front of that was a basin of salt. She stepped closer to it. The elf called from the other room. "Those are my things, in there. I'd appreciate it if you would let me have them back."

"Why should I trust you, elf?" She turned to face him. "You just killed two people. How do I know I won't be next?"

"You haven't tried to kill me, yet. They did. Stupid of them, since I'm chained up and totally unarmed. Then again, even that didn't do them much good." His sapphire eyes glanced down at his shackles. "Technically, the chain is a weapon, but not many would take that into account. I give you my word of honor, you will come to no harm if I am freed, so long as you don't threaten me." There was a sincerity to his voice that even she couldn't deny. She shifted her weight and regarded him with interest for a moment.

"I don't have the key." Her arms cross over her small chest, and he shakes his head.

"There should have been a wizard, up there. Old man with a snake. He'd have the key on him. Or if you could give me a set of lockpicks, that would help." He starts stripping the mercenaries, looking for some clothes. The human was too big, and the dwarf was too small. "Damn..." The drow girl walked back into the other room, searching for the belt pouch that would have lockpicks. Her thoughts were interrupted by the sound of armor-plated footsteps coming down the stairs. After a quick glance at the staircase to make sure they weren't in sight yet, she jumped against the wall. It slowly began to slide open, and she made her way into the secret room before anyone could see her. She closed the door as quickly as she could. That was it. She knew she was done for.


End file.
